Page 332 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
“He’s doing exactly the opposite. Bragging, but not about winning.” Levi points across the room where Sterling stands with his wife and their newborn, furthest away from the music they can get.
Hope and Harper practically jump to their feet. My sister takes a moment longer, her round middle slowing her rise. Levi and Harper both offer their hands and help her rise. Then the two women make their way to visit the newborn.
“Ya’ll havin’ fun tonight?” Famuos country singer’s voice cracks through the speaker as the song they’ve just played slowly ends.
Cheers explode around him—the dance floor’s wall-to-wall boots. We were lucky as hell to rope him into the appreciation dinner we sponsored. It helps that he’s a local from Rocky Ridge Creek and is still down-to-earth. Sure, he’s a star now, but he’s still just a hometown guy at heart.
“I see some of y’all dancin’ like nobody’s watchin’. And buddy, I promise you, we’re all watchin’.” With a sharp gesture toward the crowd, he sets off a wave of chuckles.
He’s known for putting on a good show, and he’s not disappointing tonight. The crowd is eating out of his hands.
“This one goes out to the folks who grew up on backroads, bonfires, and broken hearts.” He strums his guitar, and after singing a few solo lines, the band joins him.
“Is he going to play Boobies and Booze?” Dean mops sauce off his face with a napkin.
“He always does.” Hart’s voice does all kinds of things to me.
The roughness, the deep mess, the way it has a soft spot for me.
How did he get over here so quickly? Not that I’m complaining. The opposite. I want to pull him down beside me and demand that he take a break.
His hands rest on my shoulders, and his thumb traces circles. I melt into his touch; the simple contact sends heat searing through me.
Will his touch always have this reaction on me?
Lord, I hope so.
“But it’s never the same when his pa isn’t on the stage with him,” he says.
He’s right. His father is an absolute hoot on the stage with his son. The duo performs a comedic version of the song, with Mr. Buckley getting a bit too handsy.
I tilt my head up to Hart. “And that song always gets the guys going.”
He smirks as he bends down, meeting his lips with mine. His tongue dives between my lips with no signs of reservation, being around our families.
He’s claiming me.
I’m his, and not a damn person, feud, or secret is going to stand in our way.
I love him for it. I love him for every moment he protected me and every moment he broke to do just this.
“You get me going,” he whispers, all rough and husky.
I rub my lips together, enjoying the delicious taste of local sauces, beer, and him.
“My god, get a room,” Dean grumbles, like he doesn’t enjoy it.
We all know differently.
“And go fix that banner while you’re at it.” He points to the Wilde banner that’s slipped down above the stage.
Hart shakes his head. “You go do it. You put it up there to start with.”
Dean polishes off his steak and shockingly waits to swallow his food and take a gulp of beer before replying.
“I’ve had too many of these to be climbing up any height.” He polishes off the beer, too.
“I ain’t doin’ it.” I feel Hart’s fingers tighten on my shoulder. “Wyatt, Bronx, Levi, I don’t care who does it, but it’s not gonna be me.”
